


Dying Adonis

by yuletide_archivist



Category: The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-31
Updated: 2005-10-31
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1641506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One lazy afternoon, Basil paints.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dying Adonis

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Falstaff

 

 

Basil dipped his brush and set again to the tiny curling golden hairs. This painting was going to be a scandal. Society knew all the models who sat for him. There would be indignant matrons, giggling girls, and bemused gentlemen, all wondering who among his friends it was that had the courage (or perversity) to sit for his `Dying Adonis.' They would titter and gossip, tossing knowing looks at each other from behind fans and elegantly poised hands; some of them might not even be below begging each possible Adonis to reveal his secrets. But Basil knew the truth.

As yet, his Dying Adonis was dozing on the divan, the pose comfortable enough to sleep in. He had fallen asleep some time ago, after a charming conversation about a certain young viscount's new pastoral fad, ending with said luminary being butted by his own goat. It had made Basil laugh, even though he really shouldn't have.

Adonis' pose was naturalistic, with the simple elegance of limbs fallen neatly to rest. The youth was naked, pure as the Greek god himself, draped lightly with a sheer gossamer that hid nothing, tangling his slender thighs in white. The divan was strewn with flowers and petals forming a bed for the god; the floor around it with roses. His milky skin caught the warm afternoon light, but even before the sun's path changed he seemed to glow from within. His breath rose and fell evenly; an arm flung over his face, the only mask hiding his real identity.

Basil imagined the people that would see the painting, desiring nothing more than to lift that golden arm, to reveal the perfect face of the god. To see the lips begging to be kissed. To view for themselves the innocence of those blue eyes. But only he and Adonis would know the real truth, and smile at each other when no one else was looking.

He had to take a deep breath to focus himself; his hand was trembling in anticipation of something he himself did not know. An unspoken desire, burning upward through his torso and tingling in his toes. Yet his eyes still feasted upon the beauty spread before him. Limbs that yearned to be tumbled in a soft bed. Blond hair tousled against the pillows, falling around the head like a halo. He could imagine touching, just once, that sleeping member, and teasing it to life.

Basil bit his lip. Instead, his brush kissed the canvas, licking its way among creamy limbs and pausing here and there to pick out the edge of a flower or the shadow of a fold. He lost himself in his work again, entranced by the nuances of light and limbs. He knew that he would never forget this day, nor would he ever be able to retrace the motions of his brush, inspired by this young sleeping god.

It seemed that no time had passed at all, but he knew it had to have been nearly the whole afternoon. Basil stopped, setting his brush down and looking at his masterwork. The rest could be finished later, from memory. The sun lay low in the sky, its light gilding the room in gold.

He stared at it for a few long minutes before deciding that this piece would be kept from public view. Never mind Society; his Adonis would be kept for his own private worship. He felt like a high priest viewing for the first time the Mysteries and beginning to understand them.

"Wake up, Dorian." Basil set to cleaning his brushes.

"Mmm?" His muse stretched, the flowers falling off him. "Is it tea-time already?" The yawn nearly swallowed the words. As Dorian moved, the spell was broken; Basil could feel a little twinge of irritation going through him, knowing reality could never match his dream and his dream could never match reality.

"The butler's set tea up for us in the conservatory. We can go after you dress; I believe he's set out more of those sandwiches that you liked last time. Oh, and those little chocolates you mentioned last time - we must try them together." Basil tried to ignore Dorian as the youth combed his fingers through mussed blond hair, and set about untangling himself from the gossamer.

"No, that's all right. Unfortunately I promised the Duchess, and you know how /she/ is." Dorian's lips pursed in a lovely pout. The thin tangled gossamer ripped as he tried to tug it off, a sharp clean sound. "Oh drat."

"You're making a mess of it." Basil frowned, unwilling to help for fear that he might be tempted by that sun-warmed skin and once tempted, never let go. "I suppose I'll have to buy some more."

"No...wait, it's not too bad." Dorian unwound himself neatly and handed the mess to Basil, resplendent in his unself-conscious nudity. Basil had to force himself to meet Dorian's eyes, smiling pleasantly as if he had noticed nothing. "There. All better. Now, I shall have to go before it becomes a terrific scandal." Dorian winked. "Tomorrow, then?"

"Yes, of course. Tomorrow." Once Dorian had dressed and was gone, Basil laid on the divan among broken flowers and crushed gossamer, and closed his eyes, turning his head against the silk damask. The divan still held a faint warmth, of sunlight, perfume, and Dorian, and Basil stretched languorously. He could still smell Dorian's scent on the pillows, and pressed a fallen rosebud to his lips, as soft as he imagined that pouting mouth to be.

________

This is for Falstaff. Basil Hallward and Dorian Gray belong to Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray. This is set prior to the painting of The Portrait - I believe Wilde has a reference to Dorian sitting for Basil in many different poses for different paintings. At least, that's what I remember. My original draft came way under 1000 words, so this is the revised edition. I like my original draft better, but please enjoy this version, especially written for Yuletide 2004.

 


End file.
